


Somewhere I Have Been Before

by UnabashedBird



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Brady, Bisexual Sam, F/M, Gen, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, Queerplatonic Sam/Brady, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnabashedBird/pseuds/UnabashedBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flagstaff is worried about Sam and the lack of support he's getting, so she and Hannah send some deceased loved ones to encourage him as he dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere I Have Been Before

**Author's Note:**

> Although this could take place pretty much any time post-10.07, I wrote it specifically in response to the trailer for 10.21, in which we see that, yet again, no one seems to care about what Sam does or feels outside of how it affects Dean, and Sam is so clearly worn down and in need of support. If his living friends won't give it to him, he'll get it from the dead ones.
> 
> Fic title is a line from [Aperture by Sleeping at Last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FdUhHNcuEYE), which is such a Sam song I almost can't deal with it.

Running Heaven was hard work, Hannah found. It wasn't just about giving the angels enough order to make them feel secure while also enough freedom to keep them happy.

It was heaven itself, all the billions of souls who deserve a better eternity than the one they were given. Heaven was all right under the archangels: souls started out segregated, living in their favorite memories, but learning to visit others was possible for any who wanted it badly enough, and most did eventually, finding friends, family, people they’d never met but who had impacted them in some way. It was a bit chaotic, but it worked.

Metatron, of course, objected to the “a bit chaotic” part, and reorganized everything into what amounted to a prison, meticulous  and limited, everyone confined to their own heaven, the heavens organized not by when people had lived and who they had known, but in a system based on the contemporary English alphabet. Metatron’s arrogance never failed to disgust Hannah.

Still, it was a long, complicated process, restoring heaven, especially since she wanted to do more than just restore it to what it had been before Metatron imposed his vision on it. Each soul should have its own retreat where it could revisit its memories, perhaps even share them with others, yes, but humans, they felt things so deeply, were so innovative and playful, and that didn’t go away just because they died. She wanted to build places where souls could gather, could read and write and build and create. She wanted Heaven to be a true paradise, and paradise could not be stagnant.

Nor could it be limited to the vision of any particular sect. One of the reforms Hannah had been handling personally, because she was unsure how well it would sit with the other angels, was to approach deities who had not yet faded into oblivion or been killed  and offer them some Heavenly real estate to shape into the form their followers had learned to look forward to in life. Every time she wondered whether doing so was the worst sort of sacrilege, Hannah reminded herself that God abandoned angels and humans alike millennia ago, while these so-called pagans were still there, looking out for their followers in their own ways. And if humans who followed such faiths made it to Heaven, didn’t that mean they deserved to have their faith rewarded?

Hannah had just returned to Heaven after concluding negotiations with what remained of the Aztec pantheon when Flagstaff approached her.

“Greetings, sister. What brings you to heaven? I thought you preferred to stay on Earth, performing minor miracles in the hospitals."

“Yes, that is my preference, but I have been laboring at another task for some time now,” Flagstaff told her.

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“Sam Winchester."

“What about him?” Hannah asked, choosing not to jump to conclusions.

“Hannah, he’s in so much pain. We should help him."

“I don’t understand. Please, can you explain from the beginning? When did you begin to watch him, and why did you do so?"

“It was while he searched for the other one, _Dean_ ,” Flagstaff imbued the older Winchester’s name with contempt and loathing, “after he became a demon. The measures Sam employed, they caused some ripples, and I found out. I was going to tell him he should just give up, should rid the world of the thing that used to be his brother and then move on, but once I saw him, saw how he suffered and how he loved . . ."

“You couldn’t,” Hannah guessed.

“Yes. So I watched instead. I couldn’t get inside that bunker of theirs, but I’ve been able to keep an eye on him most other places—I left my vessel, it just made things easier. At first I thought he would be all right, with the other one human again. But Dean has been nothing but a deceitful burden on Sam, yet Sam bears it all with love and patience and understanding. But still, it wears on him, and he bears the burden alone. His so-called friends seem only to be concerned with what he does and feels so far as it effects the other one. The woman Jody may be different, but she’s far away and plenty busy looking after the two girls. Sam is trying to save his brother, which will also save the world from the scourge of a new Knight of Hell, but no one cares how hard it is for him. We are supposed to help and protect humans, and especially humans like Sam Winchester."

“Did you know he helped Castiel break Metatron out of our prison?” Hannah asked.

“Yes,” Flagstaff told her. “It was . . . not wise, but he was desperate. Desperate to save his brother, to prevent suffering. And it was Castiel, not him, who allowed Metatron to escape custody of any kind."

“Yes, I know,” Hannah said, sighing.

“Well, then?” Flagstaff pressed.

“Do you have something specific in mind for how we might help him?”

“Yes. I think we should give him a Dreaming."

“Even assuming that were possible, is there anyone we could send who wouldn’t do what you tell me his other friends have done and focus more on the brother?” Hannah asked.

“Yes, I think so. I took the liberty of observing his dreams on as many occasions as I could—I don’t know how he sleeps at all, Hannah. The things Michael and Lucifer did to him . . . “ Flagstaff trailed off, and Hannah shuddered. She’d never seen either of the two archangels herself, but if even a fraction of the stories about them were true, the things they were capable of in pursuit of their goals, or when they were thwarted, were truly unspeakable.

“How do his nightmares help us know who to send him in a Dreaming?” Hannah prompted gently.

“Oh. No, not the nightmares. He dreams of other things, too. Will you follow me?"

“Lead the way."

Flagstaff brought Hannah to one of the partially renovated sections of Heaven. Sitting outside a coffee shop on what looked like a sunny college campus were a young man and woman. Both were white, trim and athletic-looking, and appeared to be in their early twenties. They could almost be siblings, though Hannah knew they were not: both were tall, with blond hair and blue-grey eyes. They were reminiscing—this place was one where they both spend happy times when alive.

“Who are they?” Hannah asked.

“Tyson Brady and Jessica Moore,” Flagstaff told her. “He was Sam Winchester’s roommate and best friend their first two years at Stanford. She was Sam’s girlfriend, the woman he would have married."

“What happened to them?"

“Tyson Brady was possessed by a demon who worked for Azazel so as to better keep an eye on Sam. He was strong. He hung on to life and hope until the demon pinned Jessica Moore the the ceiling of the apartment she and Sam shared and set her on fire while Sam watched. Ty gave up soon after that, and the demon burnt him out. Sam still dreams about both of them. Some are, understandably, nightmares about their tragic fates, but others are good dreams: happy memories, imagined interactions, that sort of thing."

“Do you think they will go?"

“The only way to find out is to ask,” Flagstaff said, then flickered into the spectrum the two souls would be able to see, in the semblance of her most recent vessel. Hannah followed suit.

"Sorry, this is a private party," Jessica told them with an apologetic smile. "Must not've gotten the settings right since they . . . " she trailed off, then her face became much more closed and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You didn't come here by accident, did you?"

"No," Flagstaff told her. Ty sat up, looking defensive and angry, but before he could say anything Flagstaff added, "We're here about Sam Winchester."

"We're listening," Jessica said after a brief pause.

"May we sit?" Hannah asked, hoping to relieve some of the tension.

"Like we could stop you," Ty said sardonically. Jessica kicked him lightly as Hannah and Flagstaff took seats across from the two humans.

"I'm Hannah, and this is Flagstaff. She's been keeping an eye on Sam for a while now, and she recently brought some concerns to my attention, concerns we believe you may be able to help address."

"When you say 'keeping an eye on,' what does that mean, exactly?" Jessica asked levelly, eyes on Flagstaff.

"I was worried about him," Flagstaff answered unflinchingly. "His brother has made poor decision after poor decision, and Sam keeps picking up the pieces with no real support from anyone he interacts with consistently. He grows tired and weary and sad, and considering everything he has given and done and been through, I believe he deserves help and care."

Hannah stopped herself from mentioning the importance of Sam's task of curing Dean: that was not the way to enlist the help of these two. Nor, she reflected, was it perhaps the proper attitude, even if it was true--the world needed to be protected from what Dean Winchester was in danger of becoming. She supposed it was all one and the same in terms of outcome, but thinking of humans in terms of the results they could produce was one of the attitudes she was trying to weed out from herself and her brethren; she admired Flagstaff for having already done so.

"And, what, he doesn't trust angels or something?" Jessica asked coldly. "Gee, I wonder why that could be."

"How much do you know?" Hannah asked.

"All the major plot points," Jessica said. "I mean, obviously I missed a lot from the year Metatron closed Heaven, but I've been able to pick up on most of it since then."

"Same," Ty chimed in. "Can't imagine what God was thinking, giving beings like you the power to fuck things up so royally."

Flagstaff raised her eyebrows. "There are many who say the same about humans. I'm not sure we really have the right to judge one another."

"This is all beside the point," Jessica interrupted. "What, exactly, can we do to help Sam when we're stuck up here and he's down there?"

"It's called a Dreaming," Hannah explained. "When humans sleep, their consciousnesses are much closer to the spiritual plane--it's why angels can interact with people in their dreams without getting the consent needed for full possession. When we send a Dreaming, we bring a soul from heaven into contact with a living person's consciousness while they're asleep, and the two are able to interact. Unlike with regular dreams, the living human will also be able to remember the Dreaming with as much clarity as a waking conversation."

"So, we can talk to Sam?" Jessica asked, and the hope and longing in her voice reminded Hannah of the things her vessel, Caroline, had felt for her husband.

"There's more," Flagstaff said, holding Jessica and Brady's eyes in turn. "There's a reason Dreamings are few and far between. It's very taxing for the souls: you'll be weakened by the process, so much so that you'll need to recuperate in your own heavens for quite some time, without the strength to visit others or watch your loved ones on Earth."

"How long is 'quite some time'?" Ty asked.

"It varies, but I can all but guarantee that you would not be able to observe the fruition, or lack thereof, of Sam's current endeavor to find a cure for the Mark of Cain."

"So, we get to talk to Sam, show him that people somewhere in the universe care about him, but we miss the end of this act of the drama. I think I can live with that," Ty said.

"I know I can," Jessica said, a steely glint in her eye.

Hannah did not doubt either of them

"Good," said Flagstaff. "The only thing left to determine is whether you think it would be better if you both came at once, or if Sam Dreamed each of you separately on consecutive nights."

"Well, given that I was actually a demon the whole time Sam and Jessica knew each other, I'm thinking separate will be better for him. When do we leave?” Ty said.

 

Sam recognized the Stanford campus as soon as the dream began, and he recognized the man walking towards him, moving as though caught between bold confidence and shy uncertainty. Something about the dream was different: it was too vivid, like the visions he used to have all those years ago, and he wasn't settling into and accepting the dream-reality.

Something was going on.

"Hey, Sam," was it Ty or Brady? His human friend or the demon who killed him?

"What's going on?" Sam asked, thrumming with tension.

"What, aren't you glad to see me?"

"I would be if I could trust it was you."

"Right, yeah. Because that demon came and ruined everything." Ty met Sam's eyes. "Everything we had, you and me, and that demon . . . well, you know. You know what it did to us."

Sam swallowed.

"It was so confused about what we were to each other," Ty continued. "I think it possessed me because it made the same assumption everybody else did, that we were a couple. I mean, that wasn't just me, right? You felt it too? That thing where we were best friends, but it was more intense than that, but not in a romantic or sexual way because that's not something I'm capable of. I mean, maybe that's how you felt it, but you never put pressure on me, and we were just . . . us. Remember, Sam?"

There were tears in Sam's eyes. "Ty?" he whispered.

"Who else, jackass?" With that, Ty marched forward and pulled Sam into a hug, and Sam didn't hesitate to return it.

"This isn't a normal dream, is it?" Sam said when they broke apart.

"Nope."

"So what is it?"

"Apparently your mind is in a more spiritual zone or some shit when you're sleeping, so the souls of the departed can visit and interact."

"And it's just that simple?"

"Well, no, but you're not gonna--"

"Angels, right?" Sam interrupted.

"Yeah, but they seem cool. Jessica liked them, too, if that's any consolation."

"You . . . you've seen Jess?"

Ty nodded.

"So, do you know which angels?" Sam asked after a moment.

"Uh, they said their names were Hannah and Flagstaff. I think Hannah was like the boss or something."

"Yeah, that adds up. Neither of them have ever screwed me over, so I guess maybe I'll give this whole thing the benefit of the doubt."

"About time. Come on," Ty said, and grabbed Sam's hand and began to tow him towards a grassy area under a tree where they used to like to sit.

When Sam started to sit down next to Ty, however, Ty objected. "And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Uh, sitting down next to you?" Sam said, forehead crinkling in confusion.

Ty gave him a look like he was being thick, and then Sam realized what his friend wanted. "R-really?"

"Yes, Sam, oh my God."

Sam snorted, then lay down with his head in Ty's lap. Ty immediately began to comb his fingers through Sam's hair, and Sam sighed contentedly as he relaxed.

"You know, you can't exactly blame people for thinking we were a couple when we used to do stuff like this all the time," Sam pointed out.

"Do you wish we had been?" Ty asked.

Sam tilted his head back so he could see Ty's face. "I don't know. I mean, I guess the selfish answer is yes, but it wouldn't have made you happy, so ultimately, no. I liked this," Sam said, reaching up and running a hand along Ty's thigh. "You and me, confusing everyone with our couple-like lack of being a couple."

"Bromance to the max," Ty quipped.

Sam pulled up a handful of grass and threw it at him. "Dude, don't be gross."

Ty grinned as he brushed off the grass, first from himself, then from Sam's face and hair.

“Queerplatonic,” Sam said after a while.

“Excuse you?"

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep I research random crap on the Internet,” Sam elaborated. “I don’t know how old it is as a term, but it’s a word for when queer people have a non-romantic non-sexual relationship that’s deeper and more significant to them than friendship. And I remember when I read it I thought of you and me.” He shrugged.

“You and your terminology,” Ty said.

“Pots and kettles are suddenly coming to mind,” Sam said, looking up at him.

“Touché.” Then, “You think that’s what we were, then? I mean . . . you didn’t see me as just . . . "

“Well, given that I often had to suppress a pretty intense desire to make out with you, what with knowing you wouldn’t appreciate that, and that what the demon did really hurt because I thought it was you pulling away from me like that, suddenly running around having all kinds of sex with girls and not wanting to do things like this,” Sam brushed Ty’s hand with his, “anymore, and I knew I’d give almost anything just to have this back, even told myself that I didn’t care how many girls you slept with if we could just have this again, yeah, I think we had something like that."

“You ever think of how much of a mess it could’ve been if I’d still been me when you met Jess?"

“Not really. I mean . . . “ Sam trailed off.

“Aw, shit, Sam, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be making you feel good and here I am asking you to think about a possibly bad thing that could’ve happened but didn’t."

“'s OK. Besides, I have too much faith in Jess to think she would’ve let us fuck things up. I think we all would’ve figured something out."

“Yeah?"

“Yeah. What did you mean, you’re supposed to be making me feel good?"

“Oh. Well, uh . . . "

“Ty. What."

“One of the angels, Flagstaff, she seemed to think you were having a hard time with things, and that you weren’t getting enough support from your living friends. Thus the presence of a dead one."

“Oh."

“So how am I doing?"

“What?"

“How am I doing? At the support and good cheer and shit."

Instead of answering, Sam asked Ty how much he knew about what was going on.

“All the big stuff, less of the nuance. Your dumbass brother got the Mark of Cain, shit went down, you fixed it, more shit went down and continues to go down, you’re trying to fix it while everyone else whines about how you’re going behind your dickhead brother's back, when he’s the one who’s forcing you to do things that way. Did I leave anything out?"

“Ty, it’s not that simple."

“Isn’t it?"

Sam sat up and turned to look Ty in the eye. “You really believe that?"

Ty reached out and put his hand on Sam’s face, stroking Sam’s cheek with his thumb. “Of course."

Sam closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “Thank you,” he murmured after a while, opening his eyes.

“For what?"

“For this.” His heart and tone much lighter, Sam said, "Hey, do you know what kind of parameters this dream thing has? Like, could we go to the sand volleyball court and kick some ass?"

“Only one way to find out,” Ty said, reaching out for a hand up.

As it turned out, they could, and they played until the sun began to set.

“The angels said sunset was my cue,” Ty told Sam. “So this is goodbye for now. You take care of yourself, OK?"

“I’ll do my best."

“That’s all anyone should ever ask."

They embraced, and as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, Ty vanished and Sam slipped into a more normal, entirely forgettable dream.

When he woke up in the morning, he lingered in bed for the first time in he didn’t even know how long, enjoying warmth and softness and the memory of Ty.

 

The next night, the vivid dream began in the apartment he’d shared with Jess, and Sam knew.

“Hey, baby,” she said, coming in from the kitchen and depositing a plate of freshly-baked cookies on the coffee table.

“Jess,” he breathed, and then they were in each other’s arms and he was kissing her and she was kissing him back and desire like he hadn’t felt in years was coursing through him, and when they broke the kiss their chests heaved against each other as they raggedly attempted to catch their breath.

“Sorry,” Sam said. “Just . . . missed you. So much."

“I missed you, too, Sam."

He cradled her face in his hands. “I don’t want to waste this."

“We won’t,” she promised, and kissed him again, but this time the kiss stayed soft and sweet. “So. Your wish is my command."

“Just stay,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “Just stay with me."

“For as long as I can,” she promised. “But until then, what do you want to do? I mean, I think I know at least one possibility,” she moved her hips against him, and Sam stifled a groan, “but if you’d rather not, that’s fine, too."

“I don’t . . . I don’t know what I want,” he told her honestly. “Other than . . ."

Jess guided him over to the couch and sat on his lap. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” she reminded him, running one hand through his hair and stroking his cheek with the other.

“I wish I could stay here with you. I wish I didn’t have to go back,” he told her brokenly, a few tears spilling over and starting to trickle down his cheeks before she caught them with her thumbs.

She put her arms around his neck and pulled him against her, stroking his hair. “It’s OK, Sam, I’ve got you. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting that, especially not with the way everyone’s been treating you. You’re a good person, and you’re doing your best, and I love you."

They sat like that for a long time, Sam with his head against Jess’ chest, and her murmuring all the comforting. complimentary words she could think of.

Eventually he sat up and looked at her with eyes she was surprised to see were blazing, and she guessed what he was going to ask right before he asked it.

“Jess. Make me forget? Just for a little while, will you make me forget?"

She answered by turning so she straddled him, removing her shirt and flinging it across the room, and kissing him for all she was worth.

Their lovemaking went on for hours, sometimes frantic and urgent, sometimes soft and slow and sweet. They wore each other’s erogenous zones to pleasant numbness and then just enjoyed the sensation of skin on skin while they kissed each other softly.

“Thank you,” Sam said. They were back on the couch in the living room, still naked, feeding each other cookies.

“Thank _you_ ,” Jess said, eyes sparkling, and Sam grinned.

“Did it help?” she then asked softly, serious once more.

Sam looked thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he finally told her. “I just don’t see myself ever finding anything like what we had, but I think I’m OK with that. Still, it’s nice to feel it all again. With you. The give and take, sharing and receiving. I think I’d almost forgot what it was like to have mutuality."

She offered him another cookie, and he obediently took a bite, breaking off half in one go, then playfully shoved the other half into her mouth so she sputtered cookie crumbs for a moment. Grinning, he leaned forward and licked the crumbs off her face and chest once she’d gotten her breath back. She stuck out her tongue, but couldn’t keep the smile off her face for long.

“You deserve it you know,” she told him. “Mutuality,” she added in response to his silent query. “Whatever relationships you have, you deserve for them to have that, and if they don’t you’re within your rights to ask for them to either change or end. It doesn’t make you a bad person, or selfish, or any of that bullshit, it makes you healthy, and in the long run it’s better for the other people involved, too, even if they can’t see it at first."

“I wish it were that simple,” Sam told her, resigned.

“I know. I know the Mark of Cain makes everything complicated right now. Just another reason to get it removed by whatever means necessary, right? It’s what’s best for everyone, and anyone who can’t see that when all’s said and done might not be worth your time."

Sam smiled. “Yes, Mama Bear."

Jess grinned. “Long time since you’ve called me that."

Sam shrugged, still smiling.

It was then that they both noticed the angle of the sun slanting through the apartment’s windows. “Nearly sunset,” Sam murmured.

“Sam, there’s something I want to make sure you know,” Jess said, her tone suddenly urgent."

“What?"

“This process, me coming to talk to you, the angels said the soul needs to recuperate from it, and the only way to do that is to be isolated in my own heaven for a while. Do you understand what I’m saying?"

“I’m . . . not sure."

She sighed softly. “What I’m saying is, there’s no point in you getting to heaven any earlier than necessary just because you want to see me again, because I don’t know when I’ll be able to leave my heaven to interact with other souls. OK?"

“Oh. Yeah, of course."

“Not to say I won’t miss you,” she told him.

“I’ll miss you, too. But I wouldn’t want to disappoint or upset you, so I’ll stick around down here as long as I can. Promise."

“I love you so much."

“I love you, too. Always."

They kissed until the sun went down.

Sam had to change his sheets the next morning, but he hummed to himself as he carried the soiled ones to the laundry room. It was going to be a good day.

 

Flagstaff entered Hannah’s office as she finished up a meeting with a member of the team assigned to exploring the possibilities of a raid on Purgatory, as well as changing the rules about who went there.

“Did it work?” Hannah asked.

“For the time being, yes, he seems much happier,” Flagstaff reported.

“That’s good to hear."

“It’s not a permanent solution. He still needs support,” Flagstaff reminded her.

“I agree, but if it’s enough to carry him through this Mark of Cain business, then he will be in a better position to ask for the changes he needs, correct?"

“In theory. In that case, I suppose all we can do now is wait."

Flagstaff turned to go.

“Oh, and Flagstaff?” The other angel turned back. “Thank you. For watching over him. Your compassion and dedication to our true mission are an inspiration."

Flagstaff gave Hannah a small smile, nodded in acknowledgement, and left to return to her post.


End file.
